


The Feeling's Mutual

by iamatreeyouarenot



Series: Dragon Quest Builders 2 [1]
Category: Dragon Quest Builders (Video Games)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, I'm splitting this into a two-part fic, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Slow Burn, and the second half is where the lovers part is going to happen, but the journey is just as important as the destination so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamatreeyouarenot/pseuds/iamatreeyouarenot
Summary: Getting the hell away from the mess she’d made was Mayson’s intended travel plan. Instead, she got abducted by monsters, shipwrecked with some weirdos, and is now saddled with the responsibility of reviving a civilization or two. As weird as things are, at least it’s work she feels useful doing, and those Children of Hargon cultists hardly feel like a threat with her new friend Malroth watching her back. As long as he’s around, Mayson is confident things will go smoothly... If she can keep herself from getting too fond of him, that is.Fic will cover up to the point before Moonbrooke before being split into a new one.
Relationships: Builder/Malroth (Dragon Quest Builders 2), Female Builder/Malroth (Dragon Quest Builders 2), Malroth (Dragon Quest Builders 2)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Dragon Quest Builders 2 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922989
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	The Feeling's Mutual

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [CanterburyBells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanterburyBells) for helping me edit this, go read her fics! They're good stuff!

“You can admit we’re lost.”

Mayson didn’t look up as Malroth spoke, but the way she frowned heavily at her map said enough. “It’s not my fault everything in this stupid bog looks the same,” she grumbled. Even her seemingly-boundless optimism had its limits, Malroth noted to himself. He decided he might as well push a little bit more with teasing her.

“It’s not like there’s a builder around who could make some kind of landmark, right?”

She groaned. “Okay, _fine_ ,” she said, as she looked up at him. “I could have put some torches down, if I’d thought of it before now.”

“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Alright, fine,” he said. “Sorry for stating the obvious.” He wasn’t the least bit sorry, of course, but it couldn’t hurt to say he was.

Mayson sighed and rubbed her temples, before returning her attention to the map again. “I will be SO glad to look at something other than bogwater when we’re done with this.”

Earlier that day, Mayson had led them from the farm into the bog with the intent to reach the as-yet unfilled area of her magic map that Pastor Al had thoughtfully marked as the relative location of his cabin. She had then immediately lost track of where they were relative to the map, refused to admit it, and had almost walked off a dozen or so mudhills and cliffsides—which she’d only avoided because Malroth had dragged her back from them—as she tried to walk and read the map at the same time. It wasn’t until well after nightfall, when spirits had started materializing around them, that Mayson had officially called it quits and they’d set up camp in one of the caves in the cliffs that marked the edges of the bog. Malroth would have been more than happy to keep fighting them for the rest of the night—it was exciting to fight monsters that actually challenged his skills, for once—but Mayson had insisted that it was better they get some sleep since it wasn’t like going without it was going to help them find that cabin any faster.

All things considered, it was a very cozy spot she’d chosen. Mayson had sculpted some of the bog’s endless supply of mud into a wall to make the cave more secure, placed torches to scare off any spirits who might try something otherwise, and pulled a loaf of bread and two haybeds from her bag to handle the issue of eating and sleeping. After that she had pored over the map again and again, as if staring at it hard enough would make them less lost.

That had been what she was doing for the past half-hour or so, as Malroth had kept an eye on what was going on outside the cave entrance, idly hoping for a monster to stray close enough to give him an excuse to go after it… but what she WASN’T doing interested Malroth a lot more than the chance to get in one last fight before they slept.

“So,” he said.

“Mmmhmm?” Mayson did not look up from her map

“Any reason we’re not warping back to the farm for the night?”

Mayson snorted. “And go back to square one with this place? _No thanks_.”

“It’s not like you know where we are on the map right now, right? Wouldn’t you have a better idea if we went back to the start?”

Mayson was silent.

“Well?”

Mayson put down the map and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, _fine_ ,” she said. “It WOULD be easier if we did that.”

“So?”

“I just…” Mayson paused, looking pained about what she was about to admit. “I don’t _like_ warping.”

“ _Really_.”

“I can’t take apart an enchanted map!” she said. “The way it feels to use it is bad enough, but if I can’t take something apart and see how it’s made, that means I don’t know _how_ it works, and if I don’t know _how_ something works, I won’t know how to fix it when it _stops_ working!”

Malroth raised an eyebrow. The weird dropping feeling in the pit of his stomach after they’d warped for the first (and come to think of it, last) time hadn’t bothered Malroth much, but Mayson had nearly fallen over. Still…“This from the builder with enchanted gloves?” he asked.

Mayson threw up her hands. “I’m not comfortable about those either!” she said. “They make building easier, sure, but if anything, I’m even MORE uncomfortable about those! What if I need to lift something huge and they just—stop working? What if that happens right in the middle of me lifting it?”

“You’ll yell for me to get you out from under it.”

She snorted back a laugh. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s probably what would happen. But that doesn’t solve the issue of knowing if it _could_ happen, or if I can _prevent_ that from happening in the first place.”

Malroth crossed his arms. “You think about this kind of stuff a lot?”

“All the time!”

“You know what _I_ think?” He leaned back against the wall of the cave. “ _I_ think that _you’re_ thinking too much.”

“It’s my job,” she said flatly. “I _need_ to think about how stuff works, and magic just makes that more complicated. When you’ve got something that’s enchanted, it can look as good as the day it was made as long as the spell holds, but the second the spell breaks—” She brought her hands together and then quickly pulled them apart, fingers splayed, in a very underwhelming imitation of an explosion. “There’s some exceptions, some REAL good collaborations between spellcasters and builders, or made by someone who’s both, but nine times out of ten? It’s just a coat of paint slapped over bad workmanship.”

“You’ve got some pretty strong opinions about this.”

“Oh, _goddess_ ,” she said, looking pained. “You don’t want to KNOW how deep this goes. Every few months someone comes into Dormer’s workshop—” That was the name of her mentor, Malroth reminded himself. “—Complaining about some overpriced trinket they just bought breaking on them, and it’s always something that they got conned into buying because it was enchanted, and they’re always a HUGE nightmare to deal with.”

“I think I DO want to know about this.”

“No you don’t. If I get started on that I’m going to talk all night about it, and then I’m going to be mad when I realize it’s daylight and I didn’t sleep at all. My point is, enchanted stuff has _limits_ , and it’s really hard to know where they are. Like...” Her eyes scanned around her, before settling on the bag Rosie had given her, grabbing it and holding it up for emphasis. “This bag, for instance. I’m REALLY glad to have it, it is a RELIEF that I can carry so much stuff like this, but… not even getting into the question of where the hell all that stuff goes, there’s GOTTA be a limit on how much stuff I can put in there, right? What’s going to happen when it gets full? What happens if it gets damaged? Does all that stuff explode out of it or just... _vanish_?”

“You should test it!” Malroth said. “I want to see that explosion.”

Mayson narrowed her eyes. “I will absolutely NOT test it, for that EXACT reason.”

“Oh, _fine_ ,” he sighed. “Go ahead and be boring about it.”

“CONTINUING from where I left off,” Mayson said, loudly, “there’s also the question of WHAT stuff I can put in here. It’s fine with solid materials, but what about something a bit weirder, like… could I catch a magic attack using it? Would it actually go in there, or would it just damage the bag? And if I GOT it in there, would I be able to get it out or would it just destroy everything I’ve got in there?”

“Again, you should—”

“Malroth, I am NOT testing this.”

He grumbled. She continued. “On TOP of this—” she gestured, as if presenting something to an invisible audience. “There’s the REALLY big question, which is, could I put something that’s _alive_ in there? Would that—that someone or something—be able to survive? Would they have to live off the other stuff I’ve got in there? Is there— _is there air in there_? Would they just _suffocate_?

“So throw someone in there and find out.”

Mayson went dead silent.

“Malroth,” she finally said. “I realize this is funny for you, but please understand, a while ago I realized that _there is a skeleton in my bag, and I don’t remember putting it in there_.”

There was a long pause before Malroth spoke.

“Can I have it?”

“….W _hat_?”

“You don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

“What the hell are _you_ gonna do with it?”

“Scare Perry with it.”

“You do that just fine _without_ a skeleton!” she said. “I’m not giving you extra weapons to use on that poor boy.”

Malroth dramatically crossed his arms and pouted. “You _never_ let me have any fun.”

The frustrated look on Mayson’s face wavered, then broke into a smile. She laughed. It was a nice sound. Getting her to make it felt like a victory.

“ _Goddess_ ,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “This is _such_ a stupid conversation.”

“You started it.”

“I did n—you know what? No. I’m leaving it there.”

“Fine, if you want to be a coward about it.”

She sighed but failed to stop smiling. “You are _terrible_ ,” she said, as she turned her attention back to the map. “ _Completely_ terrible.”

He decided to let that one hang. He could leave her to her twentieth attempt at figuring out the map until she felt like talking again. He peered out from the cave entrance, the sight of the crabids scuttling about in the moonlight making his hands itch for his club. He wasn’t GOING to go after them, of course, since he’d allowed Mayson to convince him to turn in for the night… but there was no agreement they made that said he couldn’t fantasize about it.

“Hey, Malroth?”

“Mmn?”

“...I’m sorry.”

He looked over at her. She’d hidden her face behind the map.

“I know I got us lost. I know this whole dumb excursion would be over already if I’d admitted that.” She laughed awkwardly. “Some adventure this turned out to be, huh?”

She was… actually upset about this? This was new. In the admittedly small amount of time he’d known her, it had seemed like she could always find a positive side to things, no matter what the situation was. It felt wrong to see her so gloomy, especially about something like this. He needed to do something about that.

“Hey,” he said. “Even if this was a waste of time, I had fun.”

“Really.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“Any excuse to mash monsters is a good one, and I got to do a lot of that today, even if I had to keep saving your ass. Besides, you’re interesting to be around.”

Mayson was quiet.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m just thinking.” She hastily rolled up her map and shoved it into her bag. “We should probably try to get some sleep now. We can get in a few hours before sunrise, I’d bet.”

He sighed. Why did Mayson always get so _weird_ when he complimented her? It always made him happy when she complimented him. The idea that she didn’t like him doing the same for her was an absurd one.

...Well, whatever. He could try figuring out the reason she acted so weird later. For now, it was time to get some sleep. The sooner they did, the sooner it’d be daylight, and the sooner Mayson wouldn’t have a problem with him fighting as many monsters as he wanted.

* * *

Somewhere in the early morning, Malroth stirred awake to discover that Mayson’s sleeping body was pressed against his.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was just the first time it had happened when they weren’t piled into the communal bedroom at the farm, where the sound of the other residents stirring would wake her and she’d bolt from the floor and rush off to her workbench as her first conscious action. Without the usual morning noises, she’d stayed slumbering long enough for him to get a good sense of how she’d wormed herself against him during the night.

Slowly, carefully, he turned his head to look at her. She’d shifted onto her side in her sleep, pressed her face against his shoulder and wound her arm around his own. The angle she was at meant he couldn’t see most of her face, but it was just enough to see how peacefully blank her expression was. Awake, she smiled so easily that it felt like that was the expression her face was meant to be in all the time. Now, asleep, the lack of it seemed strange... but not bad? Just…. different.

So weirdly _delicate_.

“Delicate” was not a word he would have associated with her, even if she _was_ much weaker than him. Someone like Lulu fit that word better—demanding other people take care of her needs, when they had _better_ things to do. Mayson wasn’t like that. Nothing made her happier than throwing herself into the middle of things and getting her hands dirty. He liked that about her.

This, though…. He liked this too. There was something nice about seeing her like this. Something nice about the warm, solid presence of her body against his own. Something nice about the way he could feel her heartbeat against his arm, the way she’d cuddled it against her chest.

...His jacket felt wet. Was she _drooling_?

Alright, that was enough looking.

Malroth moved his arm, just enough to gently shake her. “Hey,” he said.

“Mmmmm?” she murmured.

“Wake up. You’re drooling on me.”

“Mmmwuh—” Her one visible eye opened. She stared blankly for a few seconds, before her eye went wide. She yelped and released his arm, and hastily scooted backwards on her ass. “Sorry!”

He laughed. “You’d better be!” he said. “You got spit all over my favorite jacket!”

Her face shifted from surprise to annoyance. She pulled a stalk of hay out of her hair. “It’s your _only_ jacket,” she said.

“And that’s why it’s my favorite!”

She huffed. “Whatever,” she said. “That can’t be any more gross than everything else that got on that jacket yesterday. We ARE in a bog, after all.

“Nah,” he said. “Your spit is definitely grosser.”

She put a hand over her face. “Ugh,” she grumbled. “ _Whatever_. Let’s just get going.” She shoved the haybeds back into her bag and withdrew the map from it. “We can talk about how gross my mouth supposedly is later. I’m ready to be done with this place.”

“Fine,” he said. “But since I’m going to be nice and not hold this against you, you owe me one.”

She narrowed her eyes. “One what?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’m sure I’ll regret it, but fine.”

* * *

Al’s cabin had been easy to spot in the fresh daylight— _surprisingly_ easy, Malroth had teased—but the One What that Mayson had agreed to owing ended up being used before they got to it. As soon as they’d spotted the giant killerpillar stalking the bottom of the cliffs below said cabin, Malroth immediately decided to cash in on that promise. “Besides,” he’d said. “You don’t want to come back here again, so why not do this now?” It was hardly like Mayson could complain, since she’d gotten an idea for a new weapon when they’d defeated it, which in Malroth’s opinion was well worth the effort.

After that fight, and a lot of climbing, they’d finally made it to the top. Mayson had decided to make her own detour along the way, diligently tapping her map against the naviglobe they found embedded in the side of the mountain to add it. “It’s better to have this stuff on the map,” she’d said. “I don’t WANT to use it, but, it’s still better.” Now...

“Oh, _dang it_ ,” Mayson said, as the prestidigitator waiting by the door came into view. “Of course this wouldn’t be easy.”

“You want me to take care of him?” Malroth asked.

“No, no,” she said. “Let me handle this. That can be plan B.”

“You _never_ want to go for plan B,” he grumbled.

“Greetings, wayward children!” the prestidigitator said. “I hope today finds you full of destructive energy!”

“Hello, sir!” Mayson said, brightly. She’d turned on her charm to full blast, her face glowing with goodwill to the point she was almost hard to look at. “Would this be Pastor Al’s home?”

“Why, yes!” he replied. “This is the pastor’s cottage. I’m minding it for him while he’s away.”

“How wonderful!” she said. “I’m so glad to know Pastor Al has such a good friend. He asked us to come here and retrieve a special pot he left here—”

“Hold it right there!” The prestidigitator pointed directly at her. “Before anything else, let me have a good smell of you! There is no fooling my sensitive nose!” He leaned towards Mayson “Answer me truthfully, now… You’ve been _building_ , haven’t you?”

“...No, sir?”

“Enough of your lies! He brandished his staff. “I can smell it on you! You _stink_ of creation! How _dare_ you try to deny it!”

“Oh, you got me!” Mayson said, her voice melodramatic. “I’ve been living in sin! Building has consumed my life! Every day I think of nothing but basket weaving!” Malroth bit down on his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Silence!” the prestidigitator said. “Either way, it matters not… Your ill-gotten gains are forfeit. All of the crops you have grown are to be surrendered to us!”

“If you’ll allow me to speak, mister, uh...”

“Elder Kazam,” he replied. “I will _graciously_ allow you to shorten it to Kaz.”

“Elder Kaz!” Mayson continued. “It’s too late for _me_ to avoid my fate, of course, but... with growing crops and cooking being forbidden, there’s not a lot of good meals when you’re a disciple of the Children of Hargon, right?"

"...I’m listening."

"If I’m reported, everything I’ve grown will get destroyed, and then _no one_ will get to enjoy it. But… _you_ can’t be faulted for having some of that possession if you confiscated it from me, right? I’m the one who committed the sin, and _you_ only did the right thing by taking it. And it’s not like _eating_ is an act of creation...”

“Well...” Elder Kaz rubbed the top of his staff thoughtfully. “If you were to yield a certain amount to me personally—as a charitable donation, of course!—I _might_ not only consider letting this go, but also consider _rewarding_ you for it… I _did_ spy an old, dusty pot at the back of the pastor’s cupboard…”

“I would _love_ to make a donation!” Mayson said. “What would the average donation be, Elder Kaz?”

“Fifty sheaves of wheat,” Elder Kaz replied. “And no less than that.”

“Can do!” Mayson said. “Please excuse us for a moment.” She backed up from Elder Kaz, and Malroth followed.

“Be quick about it!” Elder Kaz called out to them. “The sooner you bring me my tithe, the better! Use the naviglobe if you must!”

“We will _absolutely_ consider it!” Mayson called back. “ _Great_ things, those naviglobes!”

“Are you _seriously_ going to hand over our wheat to that guy?” Malroth hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. “He’s a monster! He’s with the Children of Hargon! We can just threaten to bash his head in!”

“He _is_ a monster,” Mayson said, as she dug around in her bag. “And he _is_ with the Children of Hargon, and he _is_ a _real jerk_ , but he’s also Pastor Al’s friend, and I _don’t_ think Pastor Al would like hearing we threatened to kill a friend of his.”

“Suit yourself.” Malroth said. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, waiting for her to finish searching.

A minute passed as Mayson looked through her bag. She paused.

“Um...” she said. “There’s a problem.”

“What?”

“There’s no wheat in here.”

Malroth raised his eyebrows. “What do you _mean_ , there’s no wheat in there?”

“I mean there’s no wheat in here! I must have left all of it back at the farm so Lilian and Saffron could use it! It’s not like I expected to need it for bribery reasons.”

“Wow,” Malroth said. “You spend your time thinking about all the ways your bag could kill someone, but not about what you’d need on hand to bribe people?”

She held up a finger. “Do NOT start with this. I will not stand for it.”

“You’re already standing.”

“I mean—oh, forget it.” She sighed. “Let me just… think about what I want to do here.”

There was a long pause, as they both turned to look back at Elder Kaz waiting at the cabin door.

“So...” Malroth said. “Time for plan B?”

Mayson yanked the map from her bag in one swift motion.

“You know what?” she said. “Fuck this. Let’s just warp.”

He sighed. “You _never_ let me have any fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification: I’m not a fan of “characters in the videogame can see the videogame elements” stuff in fics (if you like using it that’s valid, I’m just not into it outside of when it makes for a funny joke), so Mayson can’t see the inventory slots when she looks in her bag, doesn’t have that handy marker of where she is on the map, and can’t see in-game menus in general. Unless I wanna do something funny with that, and I might.
> 
> Elder Kaz got a name specifically because I hated seeing/writing "prestidigitator" over and over. I hate the bogs so much. Fuck the bogs.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in other DQB2 content I've created, [check out my DQB2-specific sideblog!](https://itsaplayonmason.tumblr.com/) Most of it is reblogs from other creators but I also post art I've done as well as screenshots and recordings from my own game.


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